Dirty Fingers
by Jay Rease
Summary: Santana's bitter.  It always seems to point back to Berry.  No matter the situation it's usually her fault.  Santana decides it's time someone enlightened her.   PROMPT FILL Please see notes for more info.
1. Chapter 1

Prompt filler:

This prompt was sent via email by a user I will keep anonymous. They informed me that they got this from the Glee Angst Meme, so I thought I'd post the first part of it. Here's the prompt:

Long and it's Pezberry. It's also Dub-Con.

Long prompt and slightly disturbing. Slight spoilers for S2 Duets.

After Brittany starts ignoring her, a ** off, but seriously horny, Santana is not in her best mood. At Puck's party she and an equally drunk Rachel (bonus if she already liked Santana and tells her this and BIG bonus if Santana actually likes Rachel too) making out in Puck's bedroom. Santana starts getting really aggressive with Rachel and starts calling her names "man-hands" "**" "**" or whatever and telling her that it's all her fault that Brittany doesn't want her anymore because of you liking me RuPaul and telling her that nobody but you will want her but me. Rachel is confused but she is still aroused. Afterwards Rachel's curled up in the bed bawling, and Santana is surprisingly apologetic and in tears as well and promises to never do it again. It's starts a cycle between them whenever they sleep together, Santana being overly aggressive and blaming her for Brittany not talking to her and Rachel just taking it because she thinks she deserves it and it ending with both of them in tears.

Bonus if you have Santana being crazy jealous whenever she talks to any other female and her being further enraged with jealousy if it's Brittany and/or Quinn Rachel talks to.

Big bonus if one of the glee club members finding out about (like Kurt, Mercedes or Tina) and trying to convince Rachel to stay away from Santana, but she doesn't.

Can I at least get a hopeful happy ending for Rachel/Santana? 

Title: Dirty Fingers.

Author:

Rating: NC-18+

Warnings: DUB-CON [Dubious Consent]

Disclaimer: We know who made glee and started the phenomenon, I'm just doing things with the characters that RM can't do on tv. *wink*

Summary: Santana's bitter. It always seems to point back to Berry. No matter the situation it's usually her fault. Santana decides it's time someone enlightened her.

Part 1: The party

The lights in his house were dimmed low in every room, the stereo thumping through the decades-old foundation, shadows playing on the window shades like walking placards, mysterious cups in the hands of many of the house's guests. The neighbors usually let it go until two a.m., one of their husbands coming to wander through the party until they found Puck. It was half past nine now, so she had plenty of time to get wasted.

Puck threw a party the Friday after he'd returned to school, the duets competition solidified and its aftermath weeks before still fresh on her mind. Puck hadn't called her often since he returned; he was grounded until further notice for his stupid ATM stunt. They hooked up twice during school hours and once in the showers after football practice that week. Most of it was heavy petting and lewd groping as getting caught having sex would ultimately get Puck a write up he couldn't afford. Much of their interaction occurred during school hours, so he'd stopped her in the hallway before class the previous afternoon to inform her of the epic event. His mother was working as a fill in for a hospital in a nearby county, two double shifts—his sister was staying with his Nana, sick with the flu. She showed up late as usual, the party in full swing by the time she arrived, most of the foot ball team was doing keg stands in the dining room as she headed toward the kitchen.

All of the glee kids were there, every Cheerio available also in attendance. She walked past Puck in a corner with his hand up a random Cheeri-ho's skirt. She rolled her eyes and made her way to the crowded kitchen. She saw Quinn and Sam canoodling by the fridge, reaching above them to grab the whiskey in the cupboard over their heads. She knew Puck would fill it with apple juice later, sure that his mother rarely had the time to drink anymore. She grabbed a plastic cup to pour herself a double shot when Brittany rolled Artie into her line of sight.

They were talking over the music, Brittany settling near a couch in the adjacent room, sitting side straddled over Artie's legs, wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering giddily into his ear. Santana felt her cheeks burn red as she abandoned the cup, swigging freely from the large square bottle of Jack, unflinching as it burned down her throat. She'd gag if she stayed where she was, choosing to walk around the party to get her mind off the eye vomit she was currently enduring. Finn and a few of the other footballers were engrossed in a game of Halo, Rachel sitting on the couch by the ruckus with her arms crossed, seemingly annoyed.

She walked over to her, leaning on the arm of the chair as she yelled into her ear.

"Want a sip?"

She swished the bottle in her hand, her eyebrows rising to her scalp.

"I don't drink."

"Come on, it'll be better than watching this sorry excuse for entertainment."

She nodded toward the ongoing round of Halo, knowing that the midget in front of her would take the bait. She knew it would only take a little peer pressure to convince the girl, as she was so eager to be befriended. Having a very drunk Rachel Berry would take her mind off other things, so it was an easy win-win situation. Rachel was looking down at the drink, her nose wrinkling before she snatched the bottle from her hands, putting the neck of the bottle to her empty water cup; sniffing the amber fluid before downing it in one gulp.

Santana smirked. This _would_ be fun.

They went shot for shot, Rachel complaining that she wasn't feeling any difference, Santana settled Indian style on the floor by her feet. She listened to the slur of Rachel's speech, quickly realizing that they had already finished over half of the bottle. She glanced at her watch, noting that it was only fifteen minutes after ten and she was already feeling the effects of her alcohol.

"I have to pee."

She stood slowly, putting the bottle on the coffee table by the couch and reaching her hand out to the smaller girl in front her. Rachel grabbed it reluctantly, leaning over to walk up the stairs toward the very empty hallway. They stumbled to the bathroom, Santana going to the bathroom first, Rachel deciding that she too should go as her bladder "felt like it would burst." Santana slumped against the wall until she heard the diva washing her hands, opening the bathroom door and closing it behind her with a 'thud'.

"I think I need to lie down."

It was a lot quieter upstairs. Rachel was slouching against the vanity, her wet hand pressed against her forehead; the other dangled at her side. Santana was drunk too; but she was used to being sloshed, so she grabbed Rachel's arm and led her to the one room she knew would be empty; Pucks. During most of his parties, many of the guests chose to hang on his back deck or down in his basement. Puck always flipped out when he caught anyone making out in any of the upstairs bedrooms, so most of the time the guests wandered around on the lower floors, using the bathroom in the basement instead of the master bath upstairs. She lead Rachel to his room and unceremoniously dropped her onto his bed, her arms landing above her head, her legs angled out and open under her skirt; her shirt hitched up around her bellybutton.

"Just pass out RuPaul, you're no fun when you're drunk."

"Am too—the world is just spinning at the moment."

Santana rolled her eyes. She sat down on the corner of the bed, the heat of the alcohol burning from her belly to her throat. She looked over at Rachel, sprawled out next to her, her giant eyes searching the ceiling above her, her mouth slightly agape. She sat up abruptly, steadying her swaying body with a wobbly arm. She looked over at Santana, her eyes traveling up her body and back down, stopping momentarily at her over exaggerated bosom.

"I always thought you were …sexy."

The comment threw Santana off kilter.

"You didn't need a…a _boob job_."

Santana smirked.

"Who asked you Man Hands?"

"Can I touch them?"

"What!"

Santana backed away, slightly unnerved at the drunken dwarf sitting next to her on Puck's bed. She took in the singer then. Her face was completely flushed, her tan skin tinted with hints of violet. She could see the girl's lace bra under the sheer of her white shirt, her skirt riding up; thighs exposed. Her doe eyes were hooded and relaxed, her plump pink lips parted as she breathed silently through them. Santana was _horny_. She was aching for some action and the most she'd gotten with Brittany cutting her off was quick make out sessions during her free period with Puck. She hated the little Freak in all honesty, but at the moment she couldn't control the very arousing thoughts floating around in her head. She quickly shucked her snug fitting v-neck sweater over her head, her satin black bra pushing her up in the holster, her cleavage poking out from over her cups. Rachel reached her tiny hand toward her breasts, cupping one of them through the fabric, slowly bringing the other one to join it before squeezing. Santana inhaled sharply at the contact, her nipples peaking at attention. Rachel snatched away her hands quickly.

"Sorry, did that hurt?"

The slurring in her voice was still evident. Santana pulled Rachel by the back of her neck toward her, their lips colliding in a sloppy wet mess of unresolved sexual tension. Santana threw caution to the wind, deciding that she was drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol. She was eagerly grabbing at Rachel's sides, dragging her exploring fingertips over her feverish skin. She easily tugged off the blouse, their lips parting only long enough to pull Rachel's arm sleeves off and over her head. Her hands were pulling at her shoulders, and their kisses were distracting enough for Santana to expertly unsnap her bra and rip it off. She could smell the whiskey between them, Rachel's pores emitting the savory flavor; Santana could taste it on her lips as she dragged her tongue down Rachel's neckline. Rachel was whimpering, trying to pull away when Santana reached her breasts, hovering over a perky dark brown nipple. She held the girl in place, swiping her tongue quickly around the outline, circling it again before biting down on the nub.

"Shut up RuPaul, if you scream I'll just bite harder."

Rachel arched her back the second time she did it, she was biting her lip and rocking her legs side to side, presumably squeezing her thighs to soothe her aching clit. Santana smirked against her flesh, switching sides to reintroduce Rachel to the feeling.

"Brittany doesn't like me because she must have caught you staring. She probably couldn't stand a loser tainting her girl."

Rachel tried to get up to protest, but a hand pushed down on her lazily shoulders.

"Don't deny it Treasure Trail. You like me. You probably think about me eating you out when you're making out with Finn… but he doesn't do it for you, does he? He doesn't get you wet when he touches you…But you know I can. I bet you're wet right now..."

Santana pushed her hand abruptly between Rachel's thighs, running a single finger up and down the soaked fabric of her panties. She sat up, swaying a little as she tore off the girls underwear.

"You better taste good, Berry. You better be worth Britt not wanting me for that little cripple."

She tapped her fingertip against Rachel's clit, grinning evilly when she bucked against her prying finger.

"You like that, you dirty little cunt, stop acting like you don't."

Rachel was whimpering in the most alluring of ways, she was still biting her lip, her eyes so low they were almost closed; she was staring directly at Santana, her cheeks redder than they had been before. Santana moved up her body in a fluid motion, her finger still working Rachel's clit. She'd started moaning against her, writing under her ministrations, Rachel was sinking into the bed, trying to avoid her impending orgasm.

"This is _all_ your fault, dwarf. The only reason I'm even fucking you now is because you screwed everything up."

She didn't know why she was scapegoating the overconfident midget, but she was turned on and she needed to release some of the frustration she had building from most of the week. Rachel was openly panting, her legs wrapped around her moving hand in desperation, Santana pushed down roughly, sliding the single digit into her wet, thumping vagina, and relishing the suffocating heat of her.

She pumped furiously inside of her, another finger wiggling inside of her snug little twat. Rachel was pushing against Santana's chest, her breaths heavy in Santana's ear as she continued, slamming her fingers into the knuckle, and brushing Rachel's clit with her palm. Rachel's eyes were closed, her mouth open making incoherent barking noises as Santana fingered her. She felt her squeeze around her fingers involuntarily, Rachel seemingly losing control of her body. Santana slid back down her body, pushing her tongue through the neat hair at the apex of her thighs and licking her extremely swollen clit. She pulled one of her fingers out and sat up on her elbows.

"You know Tranny, I've always wanted to fuck you… you make me so mad sometimes I just want to break you down. You want it don't you Man Hands? You want me to eat you out…you want me to make you come."

Rachel's eyes were tearing up. She nodded her head quickly and closed her eyes.

"Open your eyes."

The chocolate orbs snapped open.

"Don't do anything unless I tell you to. I want you to see me make you come, I want you to know that this is all your fault; because everything is _always_ your fault."

She sunk her mouth into her sex, her tongue pressing steadily against her clit, her finger resuming its deep, harsh strokes into Rachel's still wet vagina. She was visibly shaking, obviously overwhelmed. Santana reached her arm underneath herself, snaking a hand into her own panties as she lapped at the other girl's clit. She was rounding it with circles as she balanced herself on her own moving arm, rubbing hard deliberate patterns onto her own aroused clit. The noises pouring out of Rachel were heady, and she was mentally shattering as the girl clenched around her fingers, tighter than she had during the entire act.

"Don't you come until I tell you to, you RuPaul."

Rachel was practically gnawing on her bottom lip, her teeth marks digging into the tender flesh as Santana went back to flicking her tongue over her clit. Rachel's feet were burning, the tingling was making its way up to her stomach, Santana's hand curled upward and she could feel herself start to tumble over the edge. She was squeezing her walls around Santana's still moving finger, trying her best not to let herself have an orgasm obviously terrified over what would happen if she did.

Santana had slipped a finger inside herself, then another, and finally the last, she could feel herself start to bubble on the inside, the flat of her palm dragging against her clit as she rocked her hips in time to the finger still curling inside of Rachel. She'd found Rachel's g-spot, and she began rubbing against it relentlessly, the spongy flesh pushing back against her excited finger, Rachel gushing wet around the wandering digit. She felt herself climax suddenly, speeding up her hand as she barked for Rachel to come. She felt her relax against her finger, only to immediately contract wildly when Santana sucked hard on her clit. She watched under sleepy eyes as Rachel rode her orgasm, her body shaking violently when Santana pulled out of her and sat up beside her. She looked down at her slightly crimson finger, noting that she'd been pumping so hard that she'd broken Rachel's hymen, the sticky warm residue was quickly drying on her finger. Rachel sat up then, looking at her in disbelief, standing up and swaying as she looked timidly for her clothes.

"This was a mistake—I – this—I'm drunk and this didn't happen."

Santana looked at her incredulously. She was furious and disappointed at the same time.

"Finn can't know about this. This isn't cheating this is a mistake. It's not worth my relationship."

Santana's world came crashing around her. Rachel wasn't allowed to blame this on her. She wasn't allowed to regret it. She felt the tears slipping from her eyes before she could stop them, wiping at them as they sneaked down her cheeks. Rachel had pulled on her shirt and bra, curling into the fetal position behind her, her hands wrapped around her knees as she rocked silently.

"It won't happen again, Yentle. Trust me."

And she got up, grabbing her shirt as she ran to the bathroom to wash the taste out of her mouth and the blood off her fingers.

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At most this will be three parts. I have it written down and just need to type it up. Hopefully I'm doing an okay job with the prompt—and hopefully you guys will let me know. I will update after I get a few reviews.

I will be updating Stealing Sunshine and Gossip this week. So look out for it by Monday night. Perseverance will be finished by next Saturday. I love reviews so please, hit that little button and make my day.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: DUB-CON (still) Explicit scenes.

A/N: The majority of this scene will be in Rachel's POV—Please excuse the pronoun usage, hopefully it's clear. I feel like I'm being hard on Rachel…Enjoy.

Part 2:

In retrospect, she shouldn't have gotten as angry as she did. But looking back, she could honestly say that she had been provoked. It had taken Finn's comment to push her over the edge. His nonchalant, "She's not worth it" had stung her almost as much as Rachel's comment weeks before had. She avoided the midget every chance she got, especially when she was showing those disgusting displays of affection toward Frankenteen in the hallways. She didn't know why it got her so riled up, but it had been getting on her nerves a lot more than it should lately.

She didn't tell anyone about popping the smurfette's cherry; she couldn't be seen talking to the annoying dwarf- let alone knowingly having sex with her. Sectionals breezed by with a tie, and she watched Finchel self destruct and dissolve with the onslaught of the holiday break. When she got wind that Rachel had cheated with Puck, however, it was honestly the last straw. She hated when people touched things that belonged to her. When Artie touched Brittany, she made a point to get him pushed down the front stairwell. When Brittany caught on, she resorted to spitting in his food when he wasn't looking. Puck was no different. She bred that boy into the walking sex-toy that he was, and when news spread around school, because it always did, Santana could only get even.

Up until that very moment, however, she had no real plan to put the leprechaun in her place. She was watching her talk to Quinn of all people, twirling her hair laughing over cups of eggnog. She saw a red hotter than her Cheerios uniform then, walking away from the Christmas tree to stalk over to her former best friend.

"Quinn, Manhands. What's so funny?"

Quinn instantly walked away, going to find her Ken doll sitting by the coffee table.

"You had to have been there, now—if you'll excuse me…"

Rachel tried to side squeeze out of the corner Santana had her in, but Santana wouldn't let her move.

"How are you getting home?"

Rachel looked at her suspiciously.

"I'm riding with Coach Sylvester."

"Bummer, tell her I'll take you."

Rachel looked over Santana's shoulder, glancing around Mr. Schuester's apartment, most of the glee kids sitting idly around chatting about what they expected to get for Christmas. Coach Sylvester was running around, chasing a clearly intimidated Mr. Schue with a pair of hair clippers. She was trapped without a savior.

"Why?"

Santana rolled her eyes, scanning the space around them, her voice low enough to register a sense of urgency, but her tone not loud enough to tip other people off to the content of their conversation.

"Because I need to talk to you about what happened at Puck's party, so just meet me at my car at ten, dwarf. And if you're late—well, you don't want to find out."

And all Rachel could do was watch her saunter off.

000 0000 000

It was quiet in Santana's car on the ride home. She was fidgeting, trying not to ask questions before the girl had a chance to speak. She realized ten minutes into the ride that they weren't on their way to her house.

"You were supposed to turn there, Santana."

The quiet remained.

"_Santana_?"

"Shut up, Berry. We aren't going to your house. Call your Daddies and tell them you'll be home tomorrow."

Rachel was too nervous to actually try the Cheerio, instead pulling her cell phone out to send a quick text. They drove the rest of the ride in complete silence, pulling into a driveway on a quiet suburban street not too far from her cozy neighborhood. Santana switched a button on her car door to activate the garage lift, and slid into the empty space before unbuckling her seatbelt. Rachel quietly followed, assuming she was at the Latina's house. Santana lead her through a living room, dining room and office before opening the door to the basement and consequently; her bedroom.

Rachel stood by the computer desk in the spacious bedroom, watching as Santana started undressing while she walked to her bathroom. She emerged minutes later in a tank top and incredibly baggy running shorts. She sat sideways across from Rachel, staring blankly at her powered off television set.

"What did you want to talk about—"

"What were you and Quinn talking about?"

"What? What has that have to do with anything—"

"Answer the question, RuPaul."

Her tone was angry, a coiled kind of tense that made Rachel think twice about what she was about to actually say to the girl in front of her.

"It was just something Mr. Saunders said during bio—Quinn is my lab partner and, well you see—"

"Don't talk to her again. Outside of biology; she doesn't exist. Got it?"

"That's ridiculous, Santana; wait Santana, are you _jealous_?"

The accusation rolled off her tongue incredulously. Santana turned to her then, the lower half of her body unmoving.

"I don't want you talking to, Quinn—got it?"

Rachel slouched.

"Come here."

Rachel hated that she couldn't say no, Santana had this electrifying aura to her. Her charisma and sex appeal cackling around her like fire; too hot to touch but too enticing to ignore. She slowly slid over to where Santana sat, standing silently in front of her. Santana gripped her arm and pulled her in front of her, spreading her legs to accommodate Rachel between them. She stood abruptly. Her face was centimeters away from Rachel's. She could feel the heat of her cinnamon breath on her cheek.

"Am I still a mistake Berry?"

Rachel was terrified. She couldn't help but notice the eroticism of their situation. She felt Santana pull a hand to her wrist, gripping it lightly in between the tips of her fingers.

"Was it _worth_ it…Berry?"

And Santana's eyes averted to her mouth, she licked her lips, the hoods of her salacious eyes clouding Rachel's thoughts; she watched Santana's eyelids drift back up to hers, her fingertips rubbing small circles on Rachel's pulse point. Rachel could only nod, her dry mouth heavy on her tongue, she looked at Santana, her sable eyes staring back at her, her tan skin rosy and flushed, her breath ragged. She wanted to hide away from the girl standing in front of her, but she couldn't. She was so scared. But she was achingly aroused. The contact her hand made against her wrist was doing unintelligible things to her flesh. She could feel bolts of energy enticing the nerve endings of her body, sending signals to lower body parts; those private parts that were currently thumping to be acknowledged. Rachel wanted so badly for the girl in front of her to give her some sort of signal that she could move…the tension in her body knotting and coiling around some important place inside of her.

And then Santana kissed her.

She felt her pull her hand away from her wrist, bringing her open palms to cup Rachel's cheeks, smashing their kiss together and keeping her unmoving against her assault. Rachel just welcomed the contact, letting her hands drift lazily to the Latina's waist, only to be slapped away seconds later.

"You only do as I say, Manhands. Turn off the light."

And Rachel quickly obliged her normal voice of reason screaming in her head to just walk home, she could be prepared for the dangers of late night more than she could for what Santana had in store for her. But logic was quickly quieted as she blindly made her way to where she remembered Santana standing, bumping clumsily into the edge of the bed.

"Take off your panties, spread eagle on the bed."

She bit her lip as she slid her underwear loudly over smooth flesh, the quiet of the room deafening as she complied with Santana's command. She wanted to stop herself. But she was already wet from being in such close proximity, every nerve of her body on edge from remembering what had happened the last time the Cheerio touched her. She made herself comfortable in the middle of the spacious bed, listening to the ruffle of Santana's shorts falling quickly from her body.

Rachel wanted to change her mind; well she was convincing herself that she still could, that she didn't have to go through with whatever it was she was about to. She needed attention. And grasping blindly at straws she was going to let Santana do whatever it was she wanted that moment, the unnerving air between them thrumming her heart harder against her chest only added to the excitement she felt building at the junction of her thighs.

Santana settled on her belly between her legs. She felt the first inklings of her tongue against the darkness of the room and tried to quiet the whimpers that peeked past the hand she cupped over her mouth. She felt Santana smile against her thighs; and for some reason, Rachel knew that it was sinister.

"You get no say in anything. Do as I tell you and don't fuck up—midget. Keep your hands above your head, and don't come until I tell you to."

And Santana went to work. She could feel the slow exploration she was having on her clitoris. She kissed on every part of her sex, her full lips soothing her swollen flesh and she wandered around private parts, unraveling a rhythm that had Rachel rocking on the edge of obedience and punishment. She wanted to tangle her hands in Santana's hair, or squeeze her thighs around the overwhelming sensations her tongue was having on her clit. She was crying out, silencing only when Santana noisily slapped the side of her thigh, the sting forgotten when she continued to lap enthusiastically at her clit.

Rachel was physically trembling. She was trying hard not to buck against her eager mouth, or orgasm before Santana allowed her. She was so curious to what would happen if she came; but more nervous that it could actually be something horrible if she chose to. She felt Santana speeding up, the way her tongue padded against both sides of her swollen nub knocked Rachel into an immediate orgasm, her body involuntarily responding to the positive stimulation.

And she moaned, the low guttural pleading reaching pitches so high they could shatter glass, her body arching and collapsing—exhausted against the bed; Santana had sometime during her climax sat up, staring accusingly in the dark at her.

"I didn't say you could come, Tranny."

Santana was by her ear almost instantaneously. Rachel felt the bulbous silicone head of something thick on her thigh, before she could gather her thoughts Santana sucked on her neck as she grabbed at the toy attached to her hip. She was rubbing it along Rachel's slit, wetting it with the remnants of her orgasm.

Rachel started to panic, not sure if she was ready for this particular development. Before she could stop her, Santana pushed inside of her; the loud grunt pushing out as Santana curled her slender fingers over her mouth to stop the noise from falling out of it. Rachel felt the heavy tears prickling at the sides of her closed eyelids.

Santana moved.

Rachel didn't stop her. Santana started nibbling idly on her earlobe, the feeling distracting her from the pain ebbing at her sex. Her legs were burning as Santana's hips met hers, but the feeling of the dong inside her was starting to register. Santana's hands were everywhere, rubbing her sides or pinching her nipples. Rachel could feel her body start to relax, tensing slightly again to accommodate the overstuffed sense of being full. Santana was rolling her hips into her, her left thumb snaking between them and rubbing circles into her clit. The noises coming out of Rachel were erratic. She could hear herself mewling delightfully, Santana quickening her pace as the noises started to blur together in a mantra of moans.

"You like to be fucked huh, Manhands? You like to be told what to do. Learn to do as I tell you, Hobbit. And remember this is all your fault. Was coming worth it, Berry? Huh?"

Rachel was trying to keep the saliva in her mouth, she could feel Santana slamming into her sore flesh, and somehow she was still completely turned on, knowing that she should have stopped her from doing what she was doing to her now.

The opened her eyes long enough to see the faint whispers of Santana's outline above her. She could feel Santana move the hand rubbing her clit to slip under the harness of the strap-on she was wearing. Rachel could feel the back of Santana's hand rub against her clit, as she felt the girl play with herself while she rocked into Rachel's still wet vagina. The contact Santana's hand made against the flat of her sex was rocking Rachel over the edge. She didn't know what would happen if she came again; or how Santana would respond.

"I want to finish, Santana, please?"

Santana laughed silkily through thrusts. The husky noise contradicted the fast tempo the Cheerio was pumping into her.

"You're not allowed to talk to Quinn. It's all your fault you're not allowed to talk to Quinn- _**Say it**_!"

Rachel was close. She was squeezing her legs around Santana as she moved, trying to stop the barrage of sensations from pushing her into her orgasm.

"Say it Manhands, or I'll stop."

"It's all my fault I'm not allowed to talk to Quinn."

She felt the words betray her brain as Santana's hand came to wrap around her neck.

"Come Rachel…"

The lack of air and the power behind Santana's thrusts catapulted her into a new feeling of euphoria. She felt her insides flutter and shake, squeezing sporadically around the silicone of the strap-on. She vibrated on that bed, humming from the conflict that sensations were having on her burning flesh. Her orgasm ripped from her body in a series of flashing lights. She felt Santana shudder with her, finally sitting up to pull out of her. She padded gracefully to the bathroom, following the familiarity of the room in the dark, blinding Rachel with the light from her bathroom. She sat up, noting the stain underneath her. She stood on wobbly legs, yanking down the soiled sheets before bundling them up in the hamper beside the bed. She felt herself crying, the tears a surprise to her fingertips as she wiped away the tickling trails from her flushed cheeks.

She heard the water in the bathroom turn off, Santana standing nude in front of her, a small towel fisted around her now clean hands.

"If you're going to cry yourself to sleep; do it in the guestroom."

She just stood and walked into the bathroom, overstepping her now drying underwear discarded on the floor; she closed the door and sank down bare bottomed onto the cold tile to cry.

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A/N: Still one chapter left. The rest of the prompt will play out. A random glee member will find out (Who should it be? Leave it in a review?), and the clarifications of feelings will happen. Lost of angst, self reflection and conclusions! YAY. Please Read and Review.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This fic was supposed to be a 21 page one shot. I let myself see new episodes and I tweaked my original idea too much. Sorry for the wait. I present to you… the final chapter of Dirty Fingers. I hope you like the "happy ending", and please—review. Any mistakes are my own… I have no beta.

Chapter 3

Rachel Berry's House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza actually turned into a party sometime between wine cooler tickets and spin the bottle. She chilled with her girl Tina for most of the night- happy girl drunk laughing at all the buffoonery happening around them. Sometime after Rachel and Blaine's duet, couples began to disappear into separate corners of the basement. Being one of the only single people in the room now, her thoughts began to wander about all of the gossip she would have to spread at school on Monday. Like the looks Finn and Quinn kept shooting each other when they thought no one was looking. She rolled her eyes as Brittany and Artie rolled into the bathroom; the lock click sound of the door shutting left her alone to the mellow music and random slurping noises coming from various directions.

She stood, steadying herself to make it up to the couch she'd passed on the way into the Berry residence. She stumbled past Mike and Tina tearing at each other's clothes, and pulled her feet lazily up the modern staircase. The house was a push and pull of elegant and quaint, weirdly odd and fitting at the same time. She could appreciate the tastes of the Berry men, and she mentally thanked them when she pulled off her high tops and fell back on the long, plush couch. She would have dozed off there had something not caught her attention.

It was Rachel, in her hideous dress, belching up the steps with a glass of water. She watched her hold on to the banister of the modern staircase, slowly dragging her feet up the familiar steps; tilting often to steady her spilling water. By the time she let her head fall back against the couch, she could hear another voice pulling her away from sleep—

"Wait up RuPaul—we got unfinished business!"

She lifted her head again at the noise. Santana had dried and wiped away tear streaks still on her face, her vest somewhere abandoned. She was more agile in her drunken state. She reached the top of the stairs before she could sit up enough to follow the noise. She suddenly wasn't tired anymore. She stood quietly, tip-toeing over to the staircase. She was alert now, the situation somehow suspicious to her gossip-sniffing senses. She learned early in the game that sometimes, being quiet and just listening to the conversations you weren't supposed to hear would often put you in a place to discover everyone's secrets. It kept her entertained, honestly. She ninja stalked the steps up to the hallway, following the conversation going on between the girls who were loudly talking right into the hallway of Rachel's open door. She listened, holding her position so she could hear through the slightly open door.

"Santana, don't. I-I don't want to do this anymore…"

She heard the scuffle of multiple steps, and what sounded like kissing. She wanted to peek around the door, but didn't want to chance them catching her. She stood still, listening for clues to what they were doing. She heard Rachel whimper, the sound muffled with scraping clothing and more footsteps. This gossip would be **juicy**.

She had to suppress her urge to girly squeal at the thought.

"Stop. I said no. Santana, this stops here. I'm serious…it's gone too far and—" She was hiccupping, it sounded like she could be crying, still drunk, trying to talk and catch her breath at the same time. "…and you're with Sam now, you're putting me into a compromising position, and I don't know how I feel about what you're coercing me into."

She heard Santana smirk, her laugh tumbling out with the tone of her voice.

"Oh give it up, dwarf. You liked when I popped your cherry, and besides… Sam is a lame lay; Britts is off doing the paraplegic. You'll suffice. Stop acting like you don't like it."

She was confused. She hadn't known about any of the things going on between them. Gosh she was _slipping_. She shook her head and listened harder, trying to visualize the position they were in with the heightening voices and heavy footfalls.

"Santana, don't—I don't want to.'

She heard ruffling fabric and the distinct sounds of wet pecking and panting. The seriousness of the situation was sobering her. It didn't sound… consensual. It sounded like Rachel was struggling. It sounded like Santana didn't care.

She was panicking in the hallway, standing against the wall debating if she should interrupt what she was hearing. She was torn between believing they were just doing the nasty, and believing the pleading in Rachel's voice. Luckily, it stopped before she had to intervene—

"Santana…_please_—I'm…I'm on my period. _I can't_."

She heard an intake of breath, like Santana had pulled away from Rachel's face or neck, and she let out a breath of her own, guessing that Santana had finally backed off. She heard her take a step back, and edged away from the door in fear that Santana would walk into the hallway.

"Are you wearing a tampon?"

She grimaced. Rachel interrupted the mental image.

"I just _can't_…Santana. Please jus—just go away …"

She walked away from the door, moving toward the steps before turning around like she'd just ran up the staircase. Santana pushed by her, slurring a quick, "Move it Wheezy," before angrily heading down the steps.

She needed to talk to Rachel.

000 0000 000

She was walking home. She needed to get laid and that little garden gnome had ruined her last ditch effort to get her rocks off. She was over these lames. Sam had been boring her for a week with his impersonations and random acts of weirdo. She was tired of seeing Artie roll around on his big wheels with her girl on his lap. She honestly wanted to take it out on someone.

And who better than Rachel "Man Hands" Berry to be her own personal punching bag. The big red road block in the way of getting her Mack on had other plans. She hated the little leprechaun, well—she convinced herself she did. Now, she kind of just wanted to have her all the time. It'd happened a few times since Christmas, when she found herself in need of something tasty. She found ways to get her alone with her. She fought each time before falling into the feelings of her orgasms. She liked it that way. And now she was in need of a fix. And she was dry out of ideas.

000 0000 000

Mercedes knocked on her door. She pushed it open a little when she didn't respond to her name being called out. She just wanted to be left alone. She was tired of being that needy girl. That girl still hung up on the guy who dumped her in December. That girl clinging to someone who was using her like a toy…

Mercedes was sitting on her bed now, trying to rub her back to quiet her crying.

"Rachel… what's going on?"

She heaved, wiping the wet feeling from her cheeks before catching her breath to speak.

"I—I like someone I shouldn't Mercedes…"

She paused, looking at Mercedes, who's reassuring voice interrupted what she was about to say.

"I—I already know."

She wasn't shocked. She knew someone would find out eventually; especially when Santana had been bold while cornering her in various areas of McKinely. She let her continue.

"Is she hurting you, Rachel? Is Santana…" she inhaled deeply, "… forcing you to do things you're not ready to?"

She looked up some when Mercedes ended her sentence. The question furrowed into her knit eyebrows. She gulped, and looked away. Hesitating slightly before answering—

"I think I like her. I mean. I wouldn't let her do it if I really didn't want her to… right?"

Mercedes was staring at her, like she was waiting for her to admit something specific. She decided to continue… needing to get it out, while she had someone willing to listen.

"I like the fact that she…wants me that way. I always thought she was pretty. I like how it…feels. I just hate how I feel afterwards."

Mercedes sighed. She blew the air out of her cheeks and rubbed her palms against her thighs.

"I think… if you want more maybe you should stand your ground. Don't let her overpower you. Underneath all that bitch Santana is a scared little girl. Show her that you're on even ground and don't let her tear you down like that girl… you're better than that. Don't let her manipulate you into thinking otherwise."

Mercedes was right. She was right and Rachel had lost her fight. She went after things she wanted, and she didn't let things get in her way. She was going to make this right. And she was going to make it right very very soon.

000 0000 000

She was walking to class late the following Wednesday. The rest of the week had consisted of drinking, puking and moping, and she'd still felt like shit after going shoplifting after school the previous day. It was always more thrilling to steal the things she could so easily pay for. She was still _horny_. Brittany was still holding out, but she was sure she'd have her sex buddy back after a few words in her ear that negated all the cheating she'd be doing on Artie. She was ready for that suckfest to end soon.

But she couldn't deny at the same time, that she'd been feigning for some Berry. The thought used to repulse her. But it'd been a while and she was craving something different. The munchkin had been different. She seemed like her old full of herself…self. The only thing that was odd really was her spike in confidence. There was purpose there. She said what she wanted to and did as she pleased and that was so unlike the prim, proper and predictable Rachel Berry. She smelled bullshit. She was waiting for something to happen with the girl soon… it sort of had her on edge.

The halls were empty and the door to the janitor's closet was wide open. It was one of the ones kids averted because it was usually locked. She went to close it when a pair of hands pulled out and tugged her into the darkness. There was a scuffle, a series of clicks and the sound of metal meeting metal. A light clicked on from the middle of the small closet, the yellowed and dull bulb weirdly illuminated the stocked closet. She looked down at her hands, which were clicked into place by handcuffs, the chain linked trapped between openings in the aluminum shelf bolted to the wall.

"Really Berry? Really? Let me go you little freak or I swear to God I'll—"

She laughed. The Hobbit giggled before leaning into her personal space. She could smell remnants of vodka on her breath.

"Or you'll do what Santana? Scream?"

She closed her mouth instantly. The little dweeb thought she had the upper hand. She smirked as she spoke.

"Well? What did you go through all this trouble for, Berry?"

Rachel wasn't paying her attention; she was undoing the zipper of Santana's high waist pants, sliding them down quicker that she could stop it. Her pants fell to her ankles before she could kick out, and Rachel was leaning in to kiss her. She wasn't going to stop it. She wasn't' going to fight it, or even try to participate. She was horny and she didn't care how it happened this time she just needed the contact. Rachel's hand dipped into her panties then, and she leaned back against the shelf and pushed her hips out as Rachel found her clit.

It had been too long.

She couldn't tell if it felt this good because she had been so wound up for so long, or if it was because Rachel knew what she was doing. She didn't care—but it crossed her mind as Rachel dipped her fingertip into her opening and pressed against the heat. Her palm had flattened against her hardening clit… and she didn't know if her knees would buckle if she came. The rhythm was erratic, and her moans were drying out her lips… she felt the need to lick them every so often. She was close enough to creaming her panties when Rachel pushed her middle finger all the way inside her. She squeezed… bucked and mewled.

Rachel pulled out quickly, and tore her hand away from all the parts still aching to be touched. It took her a minute to register the absence. Her muscles were still confused and gripping at what was gone. She felt swollen and ready to pop. And the yellowed bulb in the eerie janitor's closet shed weird shadows on Rachel's devious face.

"You want me to finish… don't you?"

Her mouth was dry. She felt the tension squeezing her longing insides… she needed the release that was starting to burn inside her. She licked her lips.

"Say it Santana! You like it… and you want to cum."

She was being stubborn. Rachel reached for the doorknob, no intention of letting her out of the handcuffs. She yielded. 

"I-I like it… and I want to cum."

Rachel beamed. She stood in front of Santana, hooking her thumbs under her bikini cut purple underwear, and tugging them down. She took a shuddering breath as Rachel came face to face with her again.

Her hand slipped back into her without effort. She was squealing against the pressure Rachel was putting on the nerves inside her, and she tumbled up her climax and fell into her orgasm, sweating and bending into the girl who was half holding her up and half letting her drop. She was muttering her name as she relaxed, satisfied and semi-unconscious. She watched Rachel as she tugged a key out of her sweater pocket and unlocked the cuffs. She slouched against the shelf and rubbed her tender wrists.

"Admit that you like me, Santana… I'm tired of playing these games."

Santana looked at her, the yellow of the room not as dull all of a sudden. It was unbearably hot and she wasn't up for talking about _feelings_. Feelings were for pussies.

"Whatever, Berry. Thanks for the quickie. I have to head to class."

Rachel stood in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest. Santana was gathering her underwear and pants, readjusting her clothes.

"No. We need to talk."

"I don't do talks."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Well I don't do _casual_, Santana. Either we talk about this…or this stops now. I don't share myself with just anyone."

Santana scoffed. Rachel was being hilarious.

"Well, midget. I didn't give or share anything with you. I took what I wanted, got off a little. Win-win. Now move."

Rachel was staring at her. She wasn't budging and Santana didn't feel like fighting when her legs still felt like jelly.

"Well this is done. I won't allow it to happen again, Santana. I'm not willing to have sex with you without emotional attachment. I value my standards, and if you can't respect that you aren't worthy of my affection—"

She was talking too much. The blah blah blah coming out of her mouth was boring her honestly. She was babbling about morals and issues and self respect. And all Santana could really think about was how her tongue would feel moving that fast over other things…she supposed she wasn't getting action. And it'd be nice to have a regular again. And okay, the whole scene with the handcuffs had totally gotten her all heated—and maybe if they did other things she'd have someone interesting to occupy her time. She may have thought about it a few times recently. She was thinking between Rachel's jabbering. She was coming around to the idea of hot sex and better company than Sam would ever be. Rachel was _still_ talking.

"I will not lower myself to some—some harlot in order for you to toy with my emotions afterward and I will no longer stand for it, Santana—"

She held up her hands, quieting the smaller girl with a quick hand motion.

"Fine, Berry. Whatever. I'm not ready for Velcro strap sandals and puppy training just yet. I'm not going to style my hair in a pixie cut and sew rainbow flags into my rustic messenger bag okay? This doesn't get out."

"I suppose we shouldn't draw any more attention to ourselves…I wouldn't want to go any lower on the food chain that I already am."

She looked like she was in deep thought, drawing conclusions before speaking again.

"One condition."

She rolled her eyes.

"What, smurf?"

It was Rachel's turn to scoff.

"You have to call me Rachel."

A/N: I hope this lived up to expectations. Feedback is appreciated.


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